


Invictus

by ColourlessZero



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Character injury left right and centre, Fluff, Gladiator AU, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Sci-fi fantasy AU, Seriously this is a gladiator AU, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2017-04-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:23:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColourlessZero/pseuds/ColourlessZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Vivere militare est.” <i>To live is to fight.</i> The phrase was fitting for Ushijima Wakatoshi who only truly felt alive in the Games. Words fail him, disappearing with the breeze as soon as he opened his mouth. His too-big body moved stiffly and he was never sure what to do with his arms. In the Games however, he understood the language of muscle and tendon. He wielded his mind and body as masterfully as a poet with words. He was alive.</p><p>Enter, Bokuto Koutarou. The same phrase could just as easily apply to him, but in a more literal sense. For Bokuto, fighting in the Games meant receiving three meals a day. <i>If</i> he fought well that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Life

**Author's Note:**

> IT'S HERE! The self-indulgent UshiBoku fic of my dreams. I know I'm going to have a good time writing this, hopefully it would entertain you too!
> 
>  **Retiarius:** Probably one of my favourite gladiator types. Gladiators were already a stigmatised class in society, but retiarii were considered the lowest of the low with worse accommodations than the other types. They had little armour. Usually a shoulder guard or armour that extends along one arm. Their signature weapons were a trident, a net and a dagger. Their style of fighting had to be clever and agile, given how little protection they had.
> 
>  **Dimachaerus:** I'm a sucker for dual-wielders and dimachaeri were exactly that. Not much is known about them and from historical depictions there's a lot of variation in armour and equipment. The only common point is that these guys wield two blades and use them to both defend and attack. For that, it's likely that they had to be incredibly skilled fighters.

Ushijima sat stiffly in a metal chair that was far too low for his tall frame. He wanted to stretch his legs out, but decided against it. Even though he, Reon and Tendou were the only ones in the large, windowless chamber filled with contoured metal seats, he didn’t want to intrude in their personal space. So he sat with his legs flat on the ground, his knees pitching up uncomfortably. Sprawled across several seats, Tendou was talking and joking with Reon. Their banter went unnoticed by Ushijima.

Instead, he stared at the luminous blue numbers on the panel above the door. _10...9...8..._

They were so close. He wished the seconds would go by faster or for several numbers to simply stop existing so they could be there sooner.

 _3...2...1..._ Something he couldn’t quite name lit up inside his heart, made it race and hum beneath his tingling skin.

**_0_ **

The metallic door slid open and in poured sunlight and chants of “Shiratorizawa!” Together, the three of them moved as one, stepping out of the chamber into the city square tall and proud.

A wave of sunlight washed over Ushijima that seared his eyes and burned his skin. Swirling colours engulfed him and smoke and steam curled in the air towards him from various carts of fried food. The cheering from the crowd crashed against his eardrums. Closing his eyes briefly, he concentrated on breathing.

Reon patted him on the shoulder and smiled kindly, “We’re here.”

Yes, they were finally here and Ushijima was glad. He nodded to Reon gratefully. Slowly, the intensity of the scene dulled down. The sun became soft and warm. The colours of the banners streamed in the air like tropical fish. Green, maroon, silver-grey, red and gold emblazoned with images of fantastic beasts and fearsome gladiators. The scents wafting over from the food stalls were smoky with coriander, basil, rosemary and various peppers.

Taking care to keep at a reasonable pace, Ushijima walked on ahead of them. Tendou had told him off once, “Slow down, Wakatoshi-kun. Don’t leave us behind.”

Soon, he saw the Neo-Colosseum looming white and grand across the square. It had a rough beauty to it. Where most buildings were perfectly smooth, the Neo-Colosseum had seams running between every slab of stone and it was intentionally imperfect, covered in little pits and bumps that sometimes reflected the sun in muted flecks of light. Ushijima had read somewhere that it was made of a special type of synthesised white marble, which had microbes living inside it that ate dirt and pollution.

Bustling people ran off to grab good seats, disappearing within the arches of the Neo-Colosseum, and vendors advertised their mouthwatering foods in booming charismatic voices. The greatest throng of all was the sea of fans screaming the names of their favourite gladiators as they walked past while waving long, streaming banners that changed patterns with every flutter.

Ushijima allowed the low hum of excitement to seep into his skin and reverberate in his bones. He tried to drown in the sounds and sights. In the sea of voices he heard screams of “Waka-kun” and “Ushijima-kun”, but he never got used to seeing his own face switching with the eagle of their team on the banners.

Should he wave? Maybe he should smile at them. As he had done a million times before, he looked behind him to see how Tendou and Reon interacted with their fans. See if he could follow their example.  

Tendou was boisterous, whooping along with the crowd. Sometimes he would belt out a line from the anthem of their team or give someone a bone crushing hug. Ushijima tried that just once. The poor soul got so intimidated he ran off before Ushijima could mutter a sincere apology.

Meanwhile, Reon nodded graciously and occasionally he would wander off to ruffle a child’s hair after signing something for them. Every time the people he approached would get a brightness in their eyes and they smiled more happily than before. Reon would be an excellent father some day.

In the end he did what he always ended up doing: straighten his back, stare directly in front of him and concentrate on moving his arms while he walked in what he hoped was a natural manner.

“Popular as always, Miracle Boy.” Tendou grinned and nudged him in the ribs.

Ushijima looked at him blankly. What was Tendou talking about? There were just as many banners, if not more, with his face on them as well as fans screaming “Guess Monster”.

Deep down he appreciated their support and it made his heart feel warm, but loud crowds still made him nervous. Yet, they parted for him, Reon and Tendou as they made their way to the final match of the year.

The people moved as though in a well rehearsed play, carving out a path for their gladiators towards one particular arch of the Neo-Colosseum. It was twice as tall as Ushijima, dwarfing the regular arches either side of it.  The towering arch framed what appeared to be a solid wall. At its centre the word “Hummingbird” was engraved in large, simple lettering.

The crowd quieted and Ushijima’s heart stilled.

Beyond that wall was his world.

He ran his hand across the pitted surface of the stone, marveling at the cool touch of it and felt like he was greeting an old friend. The stone responded to his touch. Threads of light glimmered like a matrix of glass interspersed throughout the foundations of the wall, growing from where his hand was resting. He felt the wall absorb heat from his tingling skin and cracks ran across these tiny paths shattering its glassy appearance with a tinkling sound. Stardust puffed out of them before the wall crumbled entirely.

As soon as they stepped through the arch, the wall promptly rebuilt itself behind them. It was as if it had never been broken before.

The room was both small and infinite. It was filled with a thick, impenetrable blackness that stretched in every direction.

The first time Ushijima had been here he ran his hands through one of the shimmering dark clouds out of curiosity. It felt like silk slipping through his fingers, gleaming iridescent. A technician then told him off, “Stop messing with the stardust!” Later he learned the stardust was programmed to build everything in the Hummingbird.

At the centre of the room was a vortex of pure white marble bricks cloaked with wisps of stardust. They glowed softly and swirled serenely waiting to become something, waiting to become one.

It was a beautiful thing and Ushijima never tired of it no matter how many times he saw it. It reminded him of a tiger, muscles tensed to pounce. A beast full of latent energy and potential to become something more.

 _Clink clink clink._ Stone tiles formed beneath his feet and fell away behind him to rejoin the vortex of cloud and marble at the centre of the room.

Across them on the other side of that blackness, Ushijima saw some marble tiles detach themselves to fly to some specks in the distance. That must be the other team.

Another larger group of specks to the left called the attention of the marble tiles. They must be the technicians Reon had hired for this match.

When the three groups began to converge, the vortex ceased its cosmic dance and with increasingly faster movements each brick aligned itself with another. _Clinkclinkclink!_ Cracks smoothed out to become a featureless white domed room around them. At the apex of the dome the ceiling continued indefinitely into a never ending spire of light that gave the room a soft glow gentle on the eyes. Ushijima imagined it must be like an upside down wine glass.

Arranged around that spire of intangible light were six sleek, black pods with thick sapphire glass casings lifted up, waiting to receive their gladiators. At the foot of each pod was a round puddle of sticky, black tar.

Ushijima stripped down to his skin, respectfully keeping his eyes to himself. He stepped into one of the puddles and it glued him to the spot. The tar responded to the warmth of his skin and crept up his legs, over his hips and slipped over right up his neck and down to his fingertips becoming a second skin. Circuitry woven into the liquid-turned-fabric lit up in cryptic patterns of straight lines that converged over their vital organs and nerve endings.

The liquid was just seeping over a finger when Tendou took this moment to flex his arms and watch the lines distort with the movement of his biceps, “What’s your number, cutie?” He waggled his eyebrows at the technician with the bouncy blond ponytail checking the alignment of his suit. She slapped his arm to get him to stop, but not without stifling a giggle first.

“ _Tendou_ , behave.” Warned Reon.

Ushijima raised his arms and while the technicians checked the suit was aligned correctly. He watched the circuitry on his suit begin to pulse, synchronising with the beat of his heart.

The other team didn’t appear to have technicians of their own and had long since hopped into their pods silently. The curvature of the glass casings distorted their faces as they closed, so Ushijima didn't manage to get a good look at his opponents before the glass blackened.

“You’re cleared to go, Ushijima-san. Good luck with the match.”

He gripped the lip of the pod and lay down in a reclining position in the seat and the lid closed with a soft hiss. Everything was perfect and _just right_. He could stretch out his legs as much as he wanted and the seat was contoured to fit every dip and curve of his body perfectly. Within this small, enclosed space he found freedom.

Like he had done all day, he patiently waited.

The soft, whispered hissing began and the transparent sapphire glass slowly darkened to an opaque black. Metal wires emerged from little hexagonal tiles all around the inside of the pod. He let them snake around him and underneath him, crawling all over the thin material of his suit. A few painless clicks and snaps later everything went dark and Ushijima was gone. He felt small and weak, curled up tightly in a fetal position. In the darkness there was nothing and he was less than a speck of dust drifting in that nothing. Suddenly, there was the tiniest prick of light and he fell towards it. A magnet pulled in by opposing polarity. The light grew and grew and grew until he saw nothing but light.

And then his feet slammed into the ground. Dust flew around him in a hazy cloud. Soon enough, with shrieks and whistles crunching through the air that ended in a forceful slam, his teammates landed beside him and they were immediately thrusted into the fray.

The opposing team charged at them in a clamour of rusty armour, mouldy leathers and feral furs. Ushijima gave them what appeared to be a cursory glance, but that was all he needed. His eyes drank in everything. From the flight of dust to the pull of muscle and tendon beneath skin.

“Take out the retiarius.”

Tendou sprang on all fours with maniacal laughter. He was a blur of black and red. The crowd cheered at the appearance of their favourite monster. The other team scattered. Ushijima and Reon waited.

But there was no escape. The retiarius was isolated. Tendou roared. His antlered helmet gored the man’s bare chest.

Or would have.

The moment a razor sharp antler pricked fair skin a gong sounded. The air rumbled. The metallic sound evaporated. _The sky rained arrows._ With every puncture metal clanged and Tendou screamed. Then the arrows stopped. The audience held their breath. Tendou was a bleeding pin cushion on the ground. One pixel after another flew off him as he disintegrated. He glared up at the retiarius and hissed. Fans of the Guess Monster hissed angrily with him. Bells tolled and every last particle of Tendou was gone.

“The Hand of God.” muttered Reon, shaking his head. “That man is dangerous.”

“Akaashi, thank heavens you’re alright.” Swooned a group of women in rich silks and fine jewellery from the reserved box.

“No. Thank _you_ for the Hand of God.” Akaashi the retiarius bowed and smiled at them.

Ushijima misjudged this Akaashi, who only had one piece of armour on a narrow shoulder. That man’s beauty was more lethal than his trident, net and dagger combined.

Forget the retiarius. There was no telling how much money their benefactors had to throw another Hand of God for his pretty face. Ushijima dashed off to the side while everyone was distracted.

His feet moved faster and faster as he launched into the air. Spear raised above his head he lunged at the dimachaerus.

The dimachaerus whipped around. A fox-like grin plastered on his face, matching the fox pelt atop his head, “I’ve caught an eagle.” His two swords trapped Ushijima’s spear.

Ushijima only angled his body downwards. All his weight bore down on his spear. He’ll crush this fox with brute force.

The fox darted forward right towards the spear. Ushijima’s eyes widened, _What is he doing?_

_Oh._

The fox slipped beneath his swords in a backbend. Ushijima’s spearpoint barely grazed the tip of his nose. The damn fox laughed.

“Not so fast.” Reon bellowed.

The fox ran right into Reon. He rammed his mighty shield against the fox. But the fox planted his feet on Reon’s shield and used the momentum to fly into the air.

Out of nowhere their third man, head encased in an owl helmet, rammed his own shield into Ushijima. Ushijima pushed back. He refused to fall.

An electric shiver turned Ushijima’s skin to gooseflesh. He turned his head. The fox was upon him. Too fast. Too close. Both swords raised to cut Ushijima down. He saw Reon sprint towards him. Ushijima knew he wouldn’t make it in time.

Desperately, he turned to block with his spear. A sword stabbed into his side. Pain flared.

The audience gasped. The Neo-Colosseum became as quiet as a mausoleum.

“Konoha?” The owl sounded frightened behind Ushijima. His voice metallic in his helmet.

Ushijima looked at the fox named Konoha. The swords aimed at Ushijima clattered uselessly to the ground. Where arms had been was an undefined cloud of pixels barely keeping together. It was like static on ancient tv screens. The fox was as pale as death.

“Konoha!” Akaashi dodged Reon’s shield. He threw his net over Reon.

Reon was shocked. He didn’t move to untangle himself. He, too, was staring at Konoha.

The cloud spread up Konoha’s arms. It ate his body.

Akaashi shot towards him. Flung his trident to the ground. He held desperately to what remained of Konoha’s torso.

“Akaashi, I,” Konoha stuttered for breath. “I think I’m dying.”

“Don’t.”

Akaashi tried to gather the pixels. “We can fix this. It'll be fine.” He tried to piece them back together to make Konoha whole again, “You’ll be fine.”

The cloud ate up Konoha’s neck.

Akaashi held Konoha’s face. Rested his forehead against Konoha’s. “Don’t leave me.” He whispered.

“I…”

Konoha never finished his sentence. The bells sounded his death knell.

The audience openly wept and wailed.

The way the pixels ate the fox...Ushijima had never seen that before. _He couldn't have been serious about dying, could he?_ Physical bodies dying in these games were unheard of.

Akaashi picked up his trident. His face was an impassive mask, but his eyes were bright. Reon frantically scrabbled out of the net.

Ushijima hissed. The sword wrenched out of his side. The unnamed owl smashed his head against Ushijima’s with a cry. His helmet clanged around his head. Dazed, his stubborn body fell. He vaguely felt the bite of pain in his side. Was that an old or new wound? He couldn’t tell.

His view tilted and he saw Reon. It all happened so fast.

Reon parried Akaashi’s blows with his shield. He thrust his shield out. It slammed into Akaashi.

Akaashi staggered and flung himself back into Reon. He lunged his trident at Reon in unadulterated rage. Reon shoved him back with his shield. Akaashi slipped between shield and man. He thrust a dagger into Reon’s heart.

“Don’t think you’ve won just yet.” Reon wrapped thick fingers around Akaashi’s wrist. He brought his shield back close and fell forward. He held on tightly to Akaashi and when they hit the ground he slammed Akaashi’s skull hard into the parched earth.

Red leaked out of Akaashi’s cranium.

“Fight, Wakatoshi.”

They both disintegrated and those bells clamoured around louder and louder.

Looking down at him the owl brought down his sword. _Fight, Wakatoshi._ A switch flipped in Ushijima’s mind. He saw nothing but the owl. Adrenaline spiked beneath his skin. His spear was in his hand, where it should be. With sudden clarity he drove the spear past metal, flesh and bone.

Ushijima yanked the spear out and leapt to his feet.

The owl gasped and ignored the bleeding. His sword sheared through the air. Sword met armour and sparks flew.

They clashed as titans.

Ushijima’s vision tunneled. There was nothing but the owl. His spear slashed at the owl. Eyes latched onto every chink in the man’s armour.

The owl met Ushijima’s blows. Parrying with sword and shield. The owl screeched.

Ushijima remained silent.

Eventually both of them slowed. Sweaty, tired and bleeding.

Ushijima swerved to the side and swept his spear up the man’s arm. Tendons snapped. The pain did nothing to deter the owl as he frantically clawed at Ushijima’s arm with his free hand.

They both fell to their knees heaving rapid breaths. The owl slumped to the side.

Ushijima was impressed. The man should have bled out by now due to the extent of his injuries. Yet his mind flared bright and strong, refused to allow his virtual body to disintegrate into tiny pixels dripping back into his physical body in the pod.

“What is your name?” Ushijima asked. He couldn't kill him without even knowing his name. He had fought well in this strange match.

The man didn’t answer. Eyes glowing eerily behind his helmet, he grunted in pain as he tried to point his sword at Ushijima’s throat with his ruined arm. The arm shook and stuttered, a machine running on residual electricity. The amount of effort he exerted brought fresh blood spilling over his lips.

Ushijima shuffled towards him and gently lifted away the man’s helmet. If he couldn’t say his name then Ushijima would learn his face.

It was a boyish one that looked like it was made for smiling. He had silver hair with black streaks here and there that stood up straight from his head. Ushijima wondered if all his hair used to be black.

With a thumb beneath his chin, Ushijima tilted his face so he could look into the man’s eyes.

Like many people, Ushijima had seen many pairs of eyes in his lifetime. He had seen beautiful eyes with long lashes, the clear eyes of a newborn and eyes beneath folds upon folds of wrinkled skin. In the Neo-Colosseum he had seen eyes dilated with drugs as a mouth frothed white with foam and slaver, eyes that hungered for glory and pretty brown eyes cast down in defeat.

But never had he seen golden eyes so bright with a confusing mixture of viciousness and hope.

“Isn’t there a life for you outside of this?” The man spat bitterly.

For the first time, Ushijima hesitated. Almost tenderly, he drew the spear point across the owl’s neck. It was quick and clean.

The man with the golden eyes disintegrated and the crowd screamed Ushijima’s name.

He released a breath, then he too flowed back into his physical body.

The casing to his pod clicked open and he spied the black and silver haired man tumbling out of his before anyone could stop him. He hobbled a short distance away, his shaking arm holding on to the walls for support. Pale faced and drenched in sweat, with a sickly moan he threw up all over the floor.

An angry man with harsh hands yelled at a man still convulsing in his pod from post death trauma.  Ushijima recognised him. It was the beautiful retiarius with dark hair and green eyes lit with quick intelligence.

Spittle flew from the angry man’s thick, puffy mouth and clung to his graying beard as he screamed, “Get up you useless piece of shit!” Finding screaming to be ineffective he hit Akaashi until he, too, stumbled out of his pod barely able to stand on his legs.

The suits sloughed off their skin and they pulled on their clothes with hunched up shoulders. Their hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The angry man ceaselessly poured insults over them.

Shiratorizawa’s technicians squawked indignantly at the harsh treatment. A couple of them moved to help the men only to be rudely shoved aside by the angry man. Before anyone could protest they had already disappeared through the arch they came from.

“What the fuck is wrong with that team?!” Tendou was furious as he pulled on his pants.

Reon’s eyebrows furrowed in thought. “I don’t think they were free men.”

Heavy understanding fell upon them and nobody spoke as they dressed.

They were about to leave when Ushijima paused at the foot of a pod. The casing was up and it was still occupied. Inside was the fox. At the same time it wasn’t the fox, but only a young man. Without the fox pelt Ushijima could see he had sandy hair that softened his sharp features. His eyes were closed and his suit didn’t pulse with his heart. It remained as black as the void. _Too young_ , thought Ushijima.

Strong hands pushed aside the tangle of metallic wires and Ushijima lifted Konoha from the pod. _He’s so cold_. Sadness swelled in Ushijima’s heart as he held the limp body in his arms. The suit dripped off Konoha to become a perfectly round puddle on the ground.

Tendou and Reon drifted over with darkness on their brows. Solemnly, they helped Ushijima dress their unfortunate opponent. Together they carried him out of the arch.

The Hummingbird fell apart into a vortex of marble and stardust with the sound of shattered glass.

 


	2. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After winning the final match of the year Ushijima visits his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My god, it's been so long since I've updated anything. Classes have killed me, but it's ok. I handed in my assignments and now I'm alive again.

It was a glorious morning with the sun slipping into the sapphire bowl of a cloudless sky made sweeter with birdsong. Ushijima Sayako’s melodic voice joined the birds, humming a half-forgotten lullaby. Her own mother sang it to her when she was a child. By the time Sayako became a mother herself the words had already faded from memory. Luckily she still had the tune.

She strode through the maze of treasures in her private vault. The tune echoed back to her from the high ceilings. Spires of cabinets and shelves with ornate glass elevators thrust up towards the ceilings. When she looked up she saw her servants going about their morning’s work keeping her library of colour and beauty in order and free of dust.

The crisp morning air chilled her skin and hair dark as night spilled over her shoulders, tickling the bare skin of her back with every step. Her outstretched hand brushed across racks upon racks of spider silk gowns in every colour. Some shimmered sheer and iridescent, some had gold thread interspersed with tiny gems. All of them were handmade to her exact measurements with meticulous detail and cost more than several small planets combined.

But today she paid them no mind. Today her spider silk gowns would be left in the vault. Instead, she chose a loose cotton robe. Plain as it was, she had always felt more at home wearing simple things.

She checked her reflection in the mirror out of habit when her attendants emerged from one of the elevators. They bore trays of jewelled flowers and strings of pearls to weave into her hair in impossible braids. She didn’t need to look at what they brought for her today, for today was a special day.

She waved them away with a polite nod. They bowed and left the vault, sharing a secret smile between them. In the mirror she saw another row of attendants begin to file into the vault with her usual creams and powders. The previous attendants stopped them at the door whispering, “No need. Wakatoshi-kun is visiting today.” The throng of girls broke into excited chatter and Sayako smiled at them through the mirror as she combed her hair, “That’s true, dears. So we’ll need to have lots of snacks prepared.”

And so, her face was left unpainted, devoid of the golden stripes and fine dots which accentuated her slanted eyes and brought out the golden flecks in her irises. She did not hide the wrinkles that crept into the corners of her eyes or the red and purple love marks that dotted around her neck like a necklace.

Today she was not the grand beauty: Lady of Silk and Flowers. Today she was simply a mother overjoyed to see her visiting son.

The girls’ voices faded beyond the thick walls of the vault. Still, she made certain to look around before quietly padding to glass cases full of jewellery. No such thing as being too safe. Tapping a few corners and giving an inconspicuous smudge on the carpet a good stomp a small section of the wall unfolded.

Inside wasn’t anything particularly valuable save a mouldy box. She opened it carefully, knowing that it would fall apart at any moment. Resting on a flimsy bed of moth-eaten silk was a pendant. It had a single piece of amber set in fine rivulets of gold hanging from a broken chain. Only the pendant remained untouched by time. Inside the amber’s transparent golden light she saw a faraway place with a warm voice and the sound of crashing waves. She could almost smell the briny ocean, feel the water lapping at her ankles. Closing her eyes she sighed and thought, _How strange that the one thing that never changes is my conversations with you every morning._ The first thing she told him was that she loved him. The second thing she told him was how proud he would be if he could see Wakatoshi.

By the time she was ready to come out it was already noon. Nobody ever asked what she did in the vault every morning that took her more than three hours. For that she was grateful. The rest of the mansion was strangely quiet. It was deceptive, for she knew exactly where all her girls were. As she thought, a glance over the balustrade at the courtyard below told her everything.

Girls, each one more beautiful than the last, hid in every bush and peeked around every corner surrounding the courtyard. She could see that a couple of the more daring ones were hiding inside the water feature. Secretly, she cheered on the girls in the water. No doubt the water chilled them to the bone. A lot of effort on their part in a bid to be the first to impress Wakatoshi.

Their page boy darted across the courtyard in a nervous sweat. All eyes were on him as he opened the wrought iron gate. In stepped the man they had all been waiting for.

She didn’t think it was possible, but it looks like Wakatoshi had grown again. He towered above the page boy, who she can see was shaking in his boots even at this distance. Wakatoshi said a single word to him before the page boy bowed at ninety degrees and dashed off with relief.

The water girls splashed playfully out of the water glistening, sheer dresses clinging wetly to every curve. Wakatoshi’s head spun away from them so fast Sayako worried that his neck might snap. Sayako stifled her laughter.

Quick, efficient staccato steps hurried up the stairs and the page boy was bowing at her side. “My lady, the prince,” The poor thing blanched and then reached an alarming shade of red. It was his first day on the job. “I-I mean the young master!” He snapped his arms to his sides as he bowed again, “Is here to see you.”

“My son can be intimidating, but I promise he doesn’t bite.” She chuckled.

“O-of course not, my lady.”

The girls drifted out of their hiding places. They swarmed around Wakatoshi like butterflies cooing “Ushijima-kun” or “Waka-kun” and draped themselves across his muscled arms. Any other man would have fainted from happiness, but he stood there stiffly. Awkwardly almost. In the Neo-Colosseum he moved as though he was made of mercury. Here he was more like a fish out of water.

She clapped her hands together and spun to the nervous boy, “Looks like we’ll have to rescue him.”

They made their way down the stairs.

“My lady, you seem to be enjoying the young master’s discomfort a little too much.” A beat of silence and the boy stammered, “I’m sorry, I spoke out of turn.”

Sayako replied with a laugh and smiled at him kindly as they entered the courtyard, “Goshiki, do you know why I hired you?”

Goshiki shook his head, black hair flying in every direction.

“I hired you because you’re hardworking and honest. So don’t be so nervous and jumpy.”

“Yes!”

His loud affirmation rang throughout the courtyard. He blushed bright red and excused himself saying that he had errands to run for the head cook.

“Mother.”

Wakatoshi’s low voice drifted over to her. Deeper than she remembered last time she saw him. Though his facial expression betrayed nothing, the slightest heat of colour on his cheeks and the stress in his eyes didn’t slip past a mother’s notice. He was internally pleading _Help me_.

“My lady, Waka-kun is so handsome, but so cold!” One of the nymphs pouted, chocolate ringlets shaking down her back in an artful tumble.

Sayako laughed behind her hand. If anyone thought her son was cold then they didn't know him very well.

“Mother.” He repeated, looking pointedly at her and refusing to look down at the beauties vying for his attention. He was starting to get impatient, but at the same time he didn’t know how to leave the girls without offending anyone.

A girl with bright feline eyes nuzzled his shoulder and batted her eyelashes at him, “Is Waka-kun blushing?”

This was too much, her son would short circuit soon. “Ladies, behave and let me have my son.” She laughed.

“See you later, Ushijima-kun~” One of the nymphs sang as they floated off.

Wakatoshi’s stance instantly relaxed. He looked down at his hands, opening and closing them as though he hadn’t realised they had been nervously clenched into fists the whole time. He stepped forward and smiled down at Sayako offering her his arm.

Gladly, she took it and they went inside, “What a gentleman. I’m glad you didn’t forget the good manners I taught you.”

“Because you are a wonderful mother.”

“The girls would swoon if you could talk like this to them.” She teased.

“Please, no swooning.”

His eyes went wide. No doubt recalling that one time one of Sayako’s girls had tried the fainting tactic on him. Poor Wakatoshi had no idea he was supposed to catch her and she ended up with a fractured wrist. At first he bluntly told the girl it was her own fault for not staying hydrated in such hot weather. After Reon carefully explained to him what she was trying to do he was apologetic for days.

Sayako patted his arm affectionately. “No swooning,” she promised. “I saw your match on screen. I’m so proud of you. Whatever happened to the man with the fox pelt though?”

His face darkened. After a long moment he swallowed, adam’s apple bobbing up on his neck.

Sayako waited patiently for his words to come. He had the words, but it had always taken him more time than others to get them out.

“He died.” He turned his face away from her, looking at some furniture in a room they were passing.

She squeezed his hand in comfort. Judging from that alone he didn’t want to talk about it. “I’m sorry to hear that. He seemed to be an excellent gladiator.”

Voice quiet, he confirmed the fact, “He was.”

+

“HUOH! The young master eats so fast!” Exclaimed Goshiki.

Wakatoshi practically inhaled his fifth serving of hayashi rice. Efficient as always Goshiki cleared away the plates as soon as Wakatoshi was done. Sayako traced her finger around the rim of her glass thoughtfully. Goshiki reminded her of Wakatoshi when he was younger. Goshiki was definitely a lot more vocal though.

“How are you going to spend your winnings?”

“I bought a present for you.”

Wakatoshi pulled out a small velvet box from his pocket and passed it across the table. It had a tasteful golden ribbon on it with a fancy wax seal. Her heart felt all warm and fuzzy. He hadn’t forgotten that she liked to collect wax seals. Carefully, she peeled it off and removed the ribbon. The box opened with a smooth click.

Inside the box was a pair of pallasite meteorite earrings. They were warped and beautifully asymmetrical with peridot laced throughout a lattice of meteoritic iron. Pallasite meteorites were cheap, common things floating about the universe. Her lovers would always bring her rare gems with names she could never pronounce from distant planets. They were lovely of course, but pallasite meteorites had always been her favourite. The earrings dangled from her lithe fingers. She watched how the light filtered through the peridot shifting between green, olive and gold. _They look just like Waka’s eyes._ She almost cried, “I love it. I’ll treasure it always.”  

Pushing a stray hair hand behind her ear, she donned the earrings and turned her head to show Wakatoshi, “How do I look?”

Wakatoshi’s face brightened, “Beautiful.”

There was a loud squawk and a ball of feathers crashed into the room. Within seconds Wakatoshi was on his feet ready to shield Sayako.

The thing collided into him with a soft plop and scurried up his shoulder. He pulled it off and held the struggling creature at arms length. It had a small head that looks like a dinosaur’s, a pair of wings, elongated feathers on its haunches and a paddle shaped tail. Its feathers were dark and glossy like a starling’s.

Wakatoshi made unmanly sounds, cooing at it and holding it gently in his large hands he was a child again, “What is this?”

“I knew you’d love him. His name’s Jun.”

Jun leapt and glided over to Sayako at the sound of his name. He looked curiously at the shiny earrings dangling from Sayako’s ears.

“Do you remember the paleontologist?” Asked Sayako.

Wakatoshi nodded, distracted by Jun. Sayako picked up Jun and let him rest on Wakatoshi’s arm.

Sayako continued, “Jun’s a microraptor that he recreated for me.”

“That’s amazing. I thought Jun looked prehistoric.”

She watched him fondly as he stroked the microraptor’s black feathers. He had always been more comfortable with animals than people. Jun nuzzled his head in Wakatoshi’s hand, insisting that he should scratch a particular spot with an enthusiastic squawk.

Playing with the microraptor he seemed more relaxed. A smile began to surface on his face with a warmth blossoming in his eyes. “Tell me about father.”

She knew this was coming. They had the same conversation over and over. She knew it was a question. _That question_ , which he couldn’t find the words to phrase _._ She would never answer it. So she pretended to misunderstand and spoke of more pleasant things.

She told him of embarrassing stories he couldn’t recall from his childhood when his father was still around, which made him laugh and say, “You’re making this up. That never happened.”

She would exclaim, “I have photographic evidence!”

Then they’d flick through their family photos together on one of the screens on the walls. He’d point and ask about certain photos. By the time they reached the end of the album Sayako was pierced full of holes with nostalgia from days she couldn’t replicate. The photos distracted Wakatoshi well enough and she continued to smile.

She closed the album with a sigh that could be interpreted as joy. During these times she was glad her son wasn’t the best at reading people. He would never catch the tightness in her face or the way her eyes didn’t really look at a certain photos.

It was getting late and it was time for Wakatoshi to leave. He lingered by the door, his arms in an awkward position. The way he always held them before bedtime as a child silently asking for a hug. He was still her child. Tears pricked at her eyes.

She hugged him tightly, “I’m proud of you. Take good care of yourself.”

“I will.” He promised. “You should come visit me next time.” He looked off to the side and said quietly, “Maybe come to one of our matches next year.”

“Mmm, I’ll try.”

She watched him leave, Goshiki following closely behind him. The iron gates creaked open.

 _Your father was a wonderful man, but sweetheart, please don’t become like him_.

His back disappeared into dim twilight and the gates clanged shut.

Goshiki came back looking concerned, “My lady, you look so sad.”

“I wish I could see my son more often.” She sighed.

“Oh! You could go watch his matches, can’t you?”

She replied with nothing but a cryptic smile as they stepped back into the warmth of the mansion.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you're not too disappointed that there's no Bokuto in this chapter. Not to worry though, because we're going to see him in the next one!
> 
> Let me know what you think below in the comments =D


	3. Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A glimpse into Bokuto and Akaashi's life as gladiators when big matches are off-season. Small matches are on because the sport is so popular and pulls in so much money even with a small audience.

Helmets were really,  _ really _ great. It’s a lot harder to behead someone wearing a helmet and more difficult to crush their skull (unless it’s a shit helmet). Sure, the sound when weapons hit it clamoured around Bokuto’s head and rang in his ears, but the point was this: it protected his head. His trusty owl helmet was shaped in a way to trap swords between two peaks. A helpful feature he felt eternally grateful for. 

The down side to helmets were the eye holes.

His right eye poured blood, having just been...poked at, for lack of a better word, by a well-aimed dagger. It bled warm and sticky trickling beneath his armour and down his skin, seeping into his scratchy tunic. Luckily the opponent was a scrawny boy with little muscle. Otherwise that dagger would be in his brain.

Every inch of skin, save his eyes, was covered in heavy armour. So of course the only place gladiators ever aimed at were his exposed eyes. If only he had the gift of echolocation. Or better yet, x-ray vision. He could use that outside the Neo-Colosseum and brag to Kuroo about it.

He blinked away the stabbing red pain.  _ It’s not real. _

The hollow hunger in his stomach was though, a small voice at the back of his mind whispered. Every growl it made, all the fatigue in his physical body converted into a series of ones and zeros. Such a frightening piece of technology. That’s what the Hummingbird was. Bokuto shuddered.

All he could afford think about was food. 

Right now he's running on raw willpower and one bowl of watery gruel a day. 

If he made his kills dramatic enough, made them exciting enough for the crowd then maybe...maybe he might get a slice of bread to go with his gruel. 

The scrawny boy stood before him on shaking legs brandishing his bloody dagger. Choking back tears he screeched a high pitched battle cry that ended with a squeak. Ah, the boy’s voice is still changing.

Bokuto salivated, the blindness in one eye utterly forgotten. He could work with this. 

Bokuto didn't even lift his sword. He advanced towards the boy. Tall, broad and completely silent. His heavy armour splotched with rusted metal that crust like scabs should make a metallic hiss or at least clink softly, but it never did. Not even with its rusty rivets. He was a towering metallic giant with an owl’s head. Blood pouring out of one eye, hunger out of the other. 

The boy hesitated. Using both hands to hold his dagger just to stop shaking. He backed away on legs turned to gelatin, kicking up little clouds of sand.

Onaga, still green as summer grass killed too efficiently. He was now helping Akaashi with a surprisingly agile murmillo. As slippery as the fish that adorned his helmet. They'd be fine, Bokuto reassured himself. Akaashi could make the murmillo last longer. A quick match was a boring match, and a boring match meant less money. Kaleb with less than 500 Yuan worth of winnings was not a happy man.

And he so desperately needed food. 

Bokuto kept his agonisingly slow pace. Silent as an owl's wing.

The boy couldn't take it. He threw down his dagger and ran. He ran even though his lungs were on fire, tears streaking down his face. He ran until he hit the barrier above which the audience was seated. He screamed and begged the audience for a Hand of God. They leered down at him, cruel excitement gleaming in their eyes.

The boy was Bokuto’s to take. 

By the time Bokuto reached him, he had already wet himself. Whimpering in Bokuto’s shadow he curled up with his arms wrapped around his head.

The crowd egged him on, “Show us his crying face!”

With that, the boy's arms flew off. The wall behind him splattered red. His arms spun away into the screaming crowd, who dived away. The bloody appendages made a wet splat on some man’s seat before disintegrating into a hazy puff of red and brown pixels.

The crowd screamed and cheered. 

The boy screamed and  _ screamed and  _ **_screamed._ **

He looked down at his twitching, bloody stumps. Legs kicking wildly like a newborn fawn stalked by a wolf he tried to get away from this nightmare. But there was nowhere to run. This was the Hummingbird.

The boy was just as green as Onaga, thought Bokuto. He didn’t know how to work the crowd. If he crawled away or begged or  _ something  _ it would work out for him. He wasn’t working with Bokuto. 

_ It's not real.  _

Bokuto locked himself away deep inside his mind. 

The crowd was going wild. Psychopaths and sadists, the lot of them.

He submerged himself in opaque black water. Drowned himself in the void until he couldn’t see himself anymore. 

_ It’s not real. _

He carved up the boy, taking care to avoid too much blood loss. He had to make this last. Every movement slow and precise. Was this much different to butchering an animal? Bokuto’s stomach growled at the thought of meat. When was the last time he had meat?

After what felt like a long time his sword sheared through the air and hit nothing. The boy had finally disintegrated back into the pod. Bokuto’s eyes burned like somebody had put coals in his head. They burned with blood, hunger and hot tears.

When he turned around Onaga was watching him in wide-eyed terror, white as a sheet. Akaashi stood beside him with the same calm expression he always had. “It’s not real.” He mouthed to Bokuto. The edges around them became fuzzy and they disintegrated.

Beneath his helmet the tears wouldn’t stop falling. Drip drip drip. He let himself go. Curling in on himself he’s a child again. Alone and afraid in the dark. Weak, pathetic, disposable. Just like Konoha. Just like that kid he ripped apart. Just like Akaashi and Onaga--

He opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. Thrashing in his pod he tore at the wires keeping him in place. He had to get out of here. If he didn’t he’d die and never wake up again. It’s so hard to breathe. Was he dead already?

_ Click. _

Soft white light flooded the pod. He tumbled out and quickly pulled on his clothes before the liquid fabric fully melted off his skin. 

Akaashi and Onaga’s pod clicked open too. Bokuto hurried over to them and threw their clothes into their arms, “Great work guys, let’s go!” Adrenaline still crept beneath his skin. He wasn’t breathing right and everything was closing in. They  _ had to _ get out of here right now. 

Onaga’s hands were shaking uncontrollably. Normal for the first time in the Hummingbird. He fumbled with his clothes. 

“Having trouble? Lemme help you,” Bokuto forced a painfully wide grin on his face and moved to pull Onaga’s shirt over his head.

Onaga flinched away from him, “I-I can do it myself, Bokuto-san.”

He needed Onaga to get dressed quickly, “Oh don’t be shy. We’re a team now.”  _ Please listen, Onaga. We have to get out before it eats us all.  _ He stepped forward with Onaga’s shirt. Onaga backed away, shaking violently now. Bokuto wasn’t entirely sure if it’s just Onaga’s first time in the Hummingbird or if some of that shaking came from genuine fear as well. Bokuto’s heart broke.

Then Akaashi, fully dressed, materialised next to Bokuto and held him back with a gentle hand, “I’ll help him, Bokuto-san.” 

Onaga was visibly relieved and let Akaashi help him get dressed.

Bokuto paced back and forth with his arms folded over his chest. He had nothing to do. It bothered him. He was hyper aware of the other teams pods. 

He didn’t want to know what happened to the boy. Somehow the more he tried to ignore it the sharper his senses seemed to become. He heard four distinct voices. Their master and the three they faced in the game. 

Thank god. Thank god the boy was alive.

Relief crashed over him. A welcome tsunami he embraced. He hung on to that feeling with all his might. A barnacle clinging to a rock being buffeted by black, stormy waves.

Everything that happened in the Hummingbird?  _ It’s not real _ , Bokuto told himself.  _ It’s not real and everything is fine. _

+

Reclining on a small pile of velvet cushions Akaashi tried to read, but found himself unable to concentrate on anything. The white words on the blue glass seemed to sift past his eyes and drip down his face in a trickling electronic glow. This book used to be fun. Turning off the blue glass the words faded and the cold glass became flexible. He folded it up with a sigh and slipped it into his shirt pocket close to his heart. Nibbling listlessly at an apple he stroked the gleaming fur of the little red fox napping in his lap.

Perhaps this was a sign he should face reality. Since he couldn’t drown in another person’s words. More specifically, another person's voice. 

Observing outside the window with weary malaise, Akaashi sighed. 

Outside the sky was a dusty blue and life bursted from every tree with colour, fragrance and song. Sunlight glistened on water spouting out of the mouths of marble hippocampi. In the courtyard below Kaleb’s guests fluttered about adorned in silks and jewels, chattering over fine wine and exotic fruits.

He despised it all. 

The fox yipped. Akaashi gasped and hastily loosened his grip. 

”I'm so sorry, Foxy, Did I hurt you?” Akaashi smoothed over Foxy’s soft fur.

Foxy whined and rolled over, eyes sparkling. The bruise in his heart faded for a moment as he played with Foxy. The red fox had stayed with him ever since  _ that _ day. Funny how such a small thing could bring a bit of happiness back into his life. 

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Onaga. A famished wraith lingering in the doorway he was a far cry from the strong young man that first arrived here two weeks ago. Akaashi knew he would come. They always did.

“So the rumours…” Onaga trailed off.

Akaashi watched Bokuto out in the courtyard playing with one of the serving boys. His laughter boomed up to the window Akaashi sat beside. It’s been a long time since he’d heard that laugh. Though Akaashi was happy to hear it, he worried Bokuto was treading on thin ice. He knew Bokuto was fond of the boy with clementine hair. Akaashi also knew that boy would be sold to the highest bidder. If his guesses were correct it would be either Mr. Diethardt or Lady Bronwyn. He sincerely hoped it would be Lady Bronwyn. She was a kind woman who was good to her servants. Mr. Diethardt on the other hand...Dear Mr. Diethardt had an unfortunate liking for young boys and pretty corpses.

“They're true, aren't they?”

Akaashi watched Mr. Diethardt’s lanky frame scuttle around a corner like a spider, spying on the orange-haired boy with a look that made Akaashi’s skin crawl. 

“Akaashi-san?”

“They're all true.”

Onaga’s face appeared even longer. Shoulders sagging with the weight of fear.

“But it’s not his fault. It's the Hummingbird.” That's what Onaga wanted to hear. If it would keep his team sane Akaashi would say anything. 

Briefly, he wondered if that was true. Bokuto was born with a kind heart that warped and twisted in the Hummingbird. Maybe the Hummingbird merely brought out his savage side. The primal side that hides in every human and every creature. Or maybe he wanted to believe it so badly he muddled up the truth with the blatant lies he'd been telling for years.

Onaga eyed the slices of apple he was toying with. As soon as Akaashi caught him looking Onaga flicked his eyes to the side. Akaashi waved him to come closer.

Akaashi held out the platter of apples, “Eat these.”

“Are you sure? You’re not hungry?”

There’s a long silence where Onaga simply stared at him with incredulous eyes. He himself was starving. 

“I am a retiarius, Onaga,” Akaashi raised his arms and opened them up like wings. Staring down at the starving Onaga a million seed pearls and tiny gems that shone like crystallised rain dripped from fine silver chains draped over Akaashi’s skin. Fruit ripe to bursting and roasted meat steamed on silver platters. Hanging from the ceiling like billowing clouds were hand-embroidered silk tapestries.  A hazy sunbeam shimmering with dust motes illuminated Akaashi Keiji the Retiarius. Surrounded by luxury. Chained to the ground by the ankle.

Akaashi watched the circuits connect, watched the puzzle pieces snap into place in Onaga’s head. 

As soon as pity washed over Onaga’s face Akaashi knew he understood. 

He hated that look more than anything. He pushed the plate of apples into Onaga’s hands.

“Eat.”

+

For the past few mornings Bokuto paced back and forth past his door. Akaashi noticed straight from the beginning. How Bokuto would glance into his room every once in a while only to stomp away with a sour expression. He always got like this when they fought. Bokuto probably wanted to talk but was reluctant to bring  _ that  _ up. 

Akaashi went as close to the door as the chain around his ankle would allow. He called out to Bokuto, who was just about to leave in an angry huff again. “You're still mad at me.”

Bokuto stormed towards him and hissed in his face, “We shouldn’t have left him there.”

Something inside Akaashi snapped. A small voice told him this was exactly why Bokuto was so reluctant about initiating the conversation. The voice was right. But he didn’t care.

He hissed right back up at Bokuto. Poison coated every word, “And bring him back so Kaleb can feed him to the animals?” 

Bokuto flinched and stepped back. 

“Is that what you want, Bokuto-san?” Akaashi lunged at Bokuto’s neck, wild with grief and anger. Bokuto leapt out of his manic grasp. The chain pulled taut with a metallic clang. “I’d rather he be torn apart and turned to stardust!” Akaashi’s roar reverberated through the air.

Bokuto, his remaining friend and family, ran away from him in fear. Akaashi went back to the window and stared blankly at the passing day.

Some time after noon, Kaleb’s ugly voice echoed towards Akaashi's room, “As you know, good sir, my boy is wildly expensive.”

Mr. Diethardt didn't answer back. He never was a talkative man, which only made his insectoid appearance more unsettling. Akaashi guessed the money did as Kaleb constantly flattered and offered the “good sir” every comfort available free of charge in gratitude. 

In the middle of the night there was a muffled cry and scuffling from the slave quarters down below. Akaashi waited for the sounds to stop. He got used to lying, got used to fighting. But he never could get used to that helpless whimper followed by a dull thud. 

From his window Akaashi sleepily watched six cloaked shadows carry a large golden chest out of the gates. At least it's not him.

+

The next morning the general mood around the slaves was sombre. As it always was when one of them was spirited away during the night. Especially after a visit from Mr. Diethardt. The newer slaves were always the most strongly affected when they learn of Mr. Diethardt’s unusual interests.

Akaashi, however, had seen the aftermath so many times it was almost boring. 

An incomprehensible orange blur shot past his open door like lightning and Akaashi did a double take.

Akaashi rushed towards the doorway, “You there, stop!”

The blur froze, backtracked and flung himself into a very stiff low bow, “Y-yes, Akaashi-san?”

“Raise your head.”

The boy did as he was told. The boy was shaking and his eyes were swollen red from crying. 

_ The boy who was supposed to be in the golden chest,  _ every droplet of blood inside Akaashi turned to ice. Mr. Diethardt, he wasn't looking at this boy. Akaashi pulled every memory he had of the boy and searched through them with a plummeting heart. 

“Where is he?” Akaashi grabbed the boy and shook him by the shoulders. Voice coloured by hysteria he almost screamed, “Where’s Bokuto!”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see! Don't worry, I never abandon my fics >.> Anyways, stick around. Things are about to get interesting! Let me know what you think in the comments and don't forget to kudos if you enjoy what's here so far V^^V
> 
> (Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about the fluff tag wither. I assure you there will be fluff soon ^w^)


	4. Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where is Bokuto? He's out of the chest in a new place and very stressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OTL If you get a notification from AO3 at the age of 92 it's probably me updating a fic. God, I'm so unreliable. Here, have a chapter XD I swear I'll finish this eventually. No idea when, but it'll be done eventually.

Sweat dripped off Bokuto's skin only to soak into an uncomfortable wet patch beneath him, making the fabric cold and sticky. He couldn’t see a thing and it was dead quiet. His head still ached dully. All he could hear was the sound of his panicked breathing rushing back at him to fan across his feverish skin. He remembered where he was and his fear shattered through the ceiling. He was trapped in the golden chest that delivered slaves to the highest bidder, never to be seen again. If it was as simple as that then it wouldn’t be so scary, but the highest bidder was usually Mr. Diethardt, who wasn't known for taking care of his new toys. 

He willed his body to move but it wouldn't listen. Numb and heavy as a rock, the feeling was familiar. It was like being in a pod with his consciousness detaching from his body to flow into the Hummingbird. 

But this wasn't a pod he could simply wake up from and stagger home on unsteady legs. This was a living nightmare. 

His breath stuttered with exertion and soon turned to quiet sniffles. Sweat mixed with tears when he thought of Mr. Diethardt's long, bony fingers lifting the lid to claim his prize. How on earth could he stop the horrors waiting for him outside the chest?

Bokuto tried to stay awake for as long as he could. The moment his heavy eyes drooped closed adrenaline burst through his veins, forcing his shivering body to stay awake. He was afraid that if he slept he’d never wake up again. But exhaustion, fear and isolation were monsters he could never defeat. How did you fight something that lived inside you? And so they dragged him by the ankle into a dreamless sleep while he clawed fruitlessly at his last threads of consciousness. 

+

Morning light stabbed through his eyelids, snapping them open. Bokuto sprang away on unsteady legs, entangled in damp sheets clinging to his sweaty skin. He backed away into a corner, wrapping trembling arms tightly around himself. How did he get out of the chest? Twisting around his eyes darted about the room. 

The room was much bigger than the slave quarters he was used to. It even had windows. The carpet was like walking on clouds and everything was furnished with polished wood in rich reddish-browns. Everything looked nice and expensive. And intimidating. It reminded him of Akaashi’s room. It had always made him feel small and weak, but it was alright because Akaashi was always there. Here, he was alone. 

He slid to the floor, clutching the sheets in his fists, rocking back and forth on his heels. 

This was real life. One misstep and he's a goner. His fingers gripped painfully in his hair. There’s no way out.

_ Bokuto fell hard on his back, practice sword spinning out of his hand only to clatter onto the ground a few metres away.  _

_ “There’s always another way, Bokuto.” Konoha tilted Bokuto’s crestfallen face up to look at him with the blunted tip of his own practice sword, scratched and dented from years of use. “You just gotta use your brain a bit.” Konoha bonked the top of his head with the hilt of his second sword and grinned. _

_ “Ow!” Bokuto clutched at the spot, pouting a little. It didn’t actually hurt, but still. _

_ “Look around and think,” Konoha laughed and pulled him up. “You don’t always have to charge right at the obstacle with everything you’ve got. A little bit of creativity goes a long way.” _

_ Konoha looked up at the big windows on the side of the mansion and waved. Bokuto waved too, at the small figure that was Akaashi watching them from his room. Akaashi waved back. _

Closing his eyes a moment he sucked in a breath. Biting his lip he checked his feet for chains. No chains, but he had bells on his ankles.  _ Bells are great _ , thought Bokuto,  _ Bells aren't chains. They make pretty sounds.  _

He moved his limbs experimentally. All traces of paralysis had definitely disappeared. Now that was out of the way he finally noticed what he was wearing. 

He was dressed just like Akaashi. In other words, he wore just enough to be qualified as “dressed”. Around his neck was a golden collar pouring with fine platinum chains spilling over his shoulders like a cape of water. They were set with tigers eye and little drops and slivers of jagged obsidian. Something jingled near his ear and he noticed a light weight hanging from them. Feeling his earlobes he found two small teardrop bells. He shook his head a little. Amused, he didn't mind these. He liked bells. Slung low on his hip was a belt of large gold discs carved with owls in flight. From it flowed a floor-length skirt light as air and sheer at the bottom, only covering the important bits. On either side were slits that crept high on his thigh. Every movement gave a flash of leg. 

Bokuto's stomach churned. He asked Akaashi about the slits once. 

_ “Akaashi, why are the slits so high on your skirt?” _

_ Akaashi was sprawled across a sedan on his side reading a book with Konoha. He said with a completely straight face, “For easy access.” _

_ Bokuto choked on his drink.  _

_ Konoha was blushing bright red, quietly saying, “Don't tell him that. It's embarrassing.” _

_ “Embarrassing?” Akaashi quirked an eyebrow. He flicked his eyes up at Konoha. “To the best of my knowledge you quite enjoy how high the slits are.” Akaashi smirked. He continued reading his book while Konoha screamed into a nearby cushion. _

Outside came the steady thud of footsteps. It had to be Mr. Diethardt. 

_ A little bit of creativity _ , Bokuto thought back to Konoha’s advice.

He had to look fuckable. 

He wasn't exactly Mr. Diethardt's type. He preferred petite, young boys with wide-eyed innocence. Bokuto was too rugged and muscular to fit into that preference. Either way, he's here now and he could only pray this would work. 

He took stock of the room and spotted a crystal vase filled with bright yellow roses on one of the cabinets. He pried it off the cabinet and passed it back and forth between his hands. The heft of the vase wasn’t half bad. Light enough to move quickly, heavy enough to do damage. 

Since he was set on escaping he unceremoniously tipped out the water and roses in some random spot. This wasn't going to be his home. Mr. Diethardt would just have to deal with it. Cleaning up a small mess like this was nothing compared to the unspeakable things Mr. Diethardt did to his slaves.

Alright. He's doing great. His weapon was sorted. Now to set up the honey trap. 

Fiddling with the catch at his hip the heavy belt fell to the ground with a loud clunk. Bokuto winced. He hoped the walls were thick. The collar can stay. It brought out his eyes and he didn’t actually know how to take it off. He couldn’t find the clasp anywhere.

Grabbing the roses he ripped their petals off by the fistful and sprinkled them all over the bed. There were still some petals left so he made a little trail from the door to the bed.

The footsteps were louder now. He hid the vase behind him and lay seductively on his side. Head propped up on one hand, the other rested just on his hip to subtly direct attention to his girthy cock. 

There was a firm knock and the door opened. 

Bokuto did his best impression of Akaashi's sultry eyes. He squinted. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if this was how Akaashi did it. Akaashi did have smaller eyes.

The door swung open. Bokuto prepared to grab the vase and pummel Mr. Diethardt’s–

_ Shit... _ **_fuck...THAT’S NOT MR. Diethardt!_ **

He wasn’t prepared for this change in plans at all. He was prepared for surprise weapons, chemicals and things like that.

“Hello,” greeted Ushijima slowly.

But he definitely wasn’t prepared for this. He didn't realise Ushijima felt this way about him. What a surprise! Ushijima could have just told him before buying him.

Ushijima sat down on the edge of the bed. His eyes were trained resolutely on Bokuto’s face, they didn’t dare wander down Bokuto’s body and definitely not anywhere near his groin. 

Bokuto broke out into a nervous sweat. He seemed to be doing nothing but sweating today. He would need lots of water when he got the chance. This was really awkward. What should he do? He couldn't throw a vase at Ushijima when he hadn't done anything as despicable as Mr. Diethardt. 

“How did you become a gladiator?”

Not expecting the question at all Bokuto blurted out the first words that came to his head. “When I was little my parents didn't want me so they sold me.” 

Somewhere a cricket that was previously chirping away felt so out of place it decided to stop. Silence stretched taut, threatening to snap. 

“I see,” Ushijima responded almost rudely. Bokuto wasn't even sure if it was intentional. The man's face was unreadable and expressionless. 

Ushijima continued to stare him down. It was getting even more uncomfortable and he didn’t know where to look. The face was probably the safest bet, Bokuto decided. Except he saw the tops of Ushijima’s cheeks turn pink and caught those straw-coloured eyes wandering below his waist.

Bokuto broke the gaze, eyes a little wide and clumsily put his hand on Ushijima’s chest. There was no other option. He'd have to do well at what he was bought for and get along with Ushijima. 

Ushijima shrank away from his touch and looked at him with what Bokuto suspected was a look of disgust. Bokuto began to tremble.  _ Shit. I’m not good at this seducing thing and Ushiwaka’s only been here for two minutes. _

Then, unexpectedly, Ushijima leaned forward into his touch and stared at him with greater intensity than before, a small frown etched between his eyebrows. Bokuto didn’t know what to do and his neck was starting to get stiff from lying in the same position for so long.

Suddenly Ushijima’s face screwed up in concentration, trying very hard to come up with the right words. 

Bokuto swore he was reading Ushijima’s face wrong, but he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. Ushijima looked incredibly worried.

“Why are you naked?”

“Wait, what?”

“Why are you naked?” Ushijima repeated his question.

“Uh...um…” Bokuto sat up and ruffled his hair in confusion. “Because we’re going to...”  _ How do I say it nicely? _ Bokuto waved his hands around in front of him trying to find the right words. Then he struck an idea. He made a circle with his left hand and put the index finger of the other hand in and out of it.

All the blood drained instantly from Ushijima’s face. He stared at the wall, traumatised, like the universe had just imploded. 

Now this was just offensive! Bokuto thought he was plenty attractive. “Hey hey hey! You’re the one who bought me as that kind of slave, didn’t you?” He pouted.

“No, I’m afraid there is a misunderstanding.”

“Why did you buy me, then?”

“I want you.”

“Uhh, you’re going to have to be more specific? What do you mean?” 

“I want you on my team.”

+

Kuroo loitered about the streets in bright red and black robes amidst wary looks and muttered whispers of “filthy half-breed.” He was in no particular rush to get anywhere. All the same, people parted for him, giving him a wide berth. He showered daily, so he didn’t agree with their use of the word “filthy”, but he won’t deny being not quite human.

_ Call us whatever you want. In the end you all come crawling. As always, I’ll have the last laugh. _

He propped himself against a wall and watched people bustle past in the busy streets. It smelled of smoke curling from hot dog stands modelled after an antique. He could smell different variations of human odour including a few that weren’t quite human either. They weren’t like him though. They were halflings; a mixture of homo sapiens and some alien species he had yet to identify. It’s strange halflings were so willingly accepted while he and his brothers weren’t. He ground the heel of his boot into the dirt, the wet, earthy smell from the rain in the afternoon temporarily revived. Above him freshly laundered linens flapped on a clothesline.

In between billowing folds of white he spied a young lady by the window. She just got married a few months ago at the tender age of 23 to a merchant who owned many fishing vessels. It’s a pity she was to be widowed at such a young age.

Far from the crowded streets Kuroo experienced a completely different scene through Fukunaga’s senses. Fukunaga’s connection was there in his mind, just barely, like the sound of a cat’s footstep. The air stank of salt and the slightest suggestion of fish beginning to spoil. He could hear live fish slapping against each other as they tried to free themselves. Ships groaned in the harbour and machines unloaded crate after crate of fresh fish. 

Fukunaga snipped his fingers and the merchant’s thread was cut. A pale red mark on the man’s forehead was the only evidence he had ever been there. Fukunaga was still there of course, but he had a forgettable face and an unnoticeable presence. He melted away from the growing crowd around the merchant who suddenly collapsed.

The merchant died, the lady became a widow and Nekoma was several thousand yuans richer.

**Kuroo…**

The voice floating in his head was quiet. It was a warning, the calm before the storm. Kuroo continued to lean against the wall, taking his own sweet time to enjoy the streets just to see how long it took for Kenma to actually do something about it. 

**Kuroo.**

Kenma’s fury flooded his senses for a moment. Soon a timid chorus of voices whispered urgently, “Kuroo, listen to him. He’s getting mad.” He could pick out Yaku’s voice muttering in the background, “I knew I should have gone with him.”

_ Fine, fine. I’m going to get your pretty boy. _

**He’s my friend. You know that. He doesn’t belong to anyone.**

_ He belongs to Kaleb. _

**If he belongs to anyone at all then he belongs to Konoha. Don’t you dare be late.**

After that nobody dared to breathe a word. The neural connections hummed like a trembling web between them. Angry was an understatement, Kenma was furious and impatient. A rare and dangerous occurrence that made Kuroo back down.

It was common knowledge he didn’t like Akaashi. The moment Kuroo laid eyes on him Kuroo knew he’d be trouble. Nonetheless, he often used every method he had to sneak Kenma into Kaleb’s mansion to see his friends. Kenma didn’t have many friends, so the few he did have were precious. Bokuto he didn’t mind at all. He was a good guy with a bright attitude Kuroo admired. Akaashi on the other hand. His eyes were cold and lifeless. There was something about him that made Kuroo uneasy. Nonetheless, the two made Kenma happy. 

So it goes without saying he would do everything in his power to bring Akaashi to Kenma, even if they never got along all that well. Kuroo frowned. He wished he could have done the same for Bokuto. Nobody thought he would be sold as a pleasure slave. He had everyone on the lookout for Bokuto. Mr. Diethardt wasn’t the one who bought him. Whoever did wanted to keep it quiet. Quite unusual. Anyone else would have flaunted the mighty ace of the arena at every opportunity. They’d tell anyone who would listen all about the expensive, new pet they bought. Bokuto wasn’t one of the top gladiators for nothing even if he wasn’t a free man.

Kuroo slipped past the mansion’s defenses. Screens of zeroes and ones flowed before his eyes and walls of messy code swam before him. Funny how even now with all their technology code was still disorderly and uncommented. He plucked them like flowers and rearranged them. Before anyone could detect him he was inside Kaleb’s gallery. Preparations had all been finished for tomorrow’s auction. Kaleb was inspecting his goods. 

Kuroo slinked past gems the size of his head in display cases and the lifeless stares of exotic beasts crammed into small cages. He spied Kaleb’s bald head shining like a beacon bobbing in between taxidermy aliens with thick, armour-like skin and small tusks protruding from the corners of their lips. Kuroo wrinkled his nose, it’s not right to do that to people.

He stuck to Kaleb’s side like a shadow and purred, “Hello.”

Kaleb yelped and jumped a foot into the air. “It’s you!” he spat. “I’ve paid you, haven’t I?”

Kuroo’s eyes crinkled with mirth. It’s natural for people like Kaleb to be a bit twitchy when they have very unethical taxidermy goods. That one Kaleb was inspecting might be from a powerful family in another solar system. “Oh, can’t I visit one of our best patrons?”

Kaleb scratched at his beard, his face tight with suspicion. “I’ve followed the contract to a tee. There is no business for you here,” he said sharply.

Kuroo walked by his side, not so secretly enjoying the twist of displeasure in Kaleb’s mouth. “Say, what do you think would happen if they knew what really happened?”

“You wouldn’t,” Kaleb said with a saccharine smile full of yellow teeth as he ran his hands over the fine pelt of a panther.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t.” 

Kaleb gave him the sort of look a cat would have while toying with a mouse. Kuroo let him have his moment. Soon he’d make clear who was the cat and who was the mouse.

“Not without a price,” Kuroo sneered. “I’ve been so busy you wouldn’t believe it. More and more women pouring through that tunnel of mine by the day. Remember? The same tunnel you crawled through on your own hands and knees. They’ve been throwing jewels and money at me, begging Nekoma to spare no expense in finding out how and why your little fox died. I’m sure you’re the only one I know who can understand the pleasure of being pelted with riches.” 

Kaleb paled. 

“You look a little green, Kaleb. I gotta say, the colour suits you.” Kuroo was fighting back laughter. If he knew it was going to be this fun he wouldn’t have put this off.  He continued, “Of course, such a difficult task would need a price tag to match. Suppose they pooled their resources together, suppose one lady had just the right price. What should I tell them?”

“What is it that you want?” Kaleb’s voice trembled.

A smile slashed across Kuroo’s face. “Your prettiest bird, Akaashi Keiji.”

Kaleb strode stiffly to a small plinth holding a clear crystal. He gave it a tap and it turned blue with white inscriptions drifting across every facet. His fingers swished across the facets and an interface projected into the air before them. Kuroo watched him dial in Akaashi’s identification number and one other. Probably another slave to bring Akaashi into the main room. 

Before long Akaashi was led into room by a young boy with a shock of orange hair. The boy looked back and forth between Akaashi, Kuroo and Kaleb. His small hands clenched around the chain.

Just looking at Akaashi enraged Kuroo. He was dressed in hardly more than a few strips of flimsy cloth that threatened to fall off at any moment.

A few diaphanous tendrils unfurled from the shackles around Akaashi’s neck, wrists and ankles to converge on Kaleb’s temples. A memory shimmered down the connection and they opened with a soft click.

“Excellent. Everyone’s happy!” Kuroo clapped. He threw his coat over Akaashi’s shoulders. He’s not having Akaashi walk around in barely anything no matter how much he disliked the man.

He was ready to leave when Akaashi’s nails dug into his wrist. “Not without Foxy,” Akaashi hissed. For the first time he saw fire instead of a strange, reptilian coldness in Akaashi’s eyes. He remembered Foxy. Konoha was never that creative with names. Foxy was on the small side, but he was the fluffiest and friendliest little fox in the world. He didn’t think Akaashi cared that much about the small animal. 

_ Oho? So it wasn’t an act? They’re actually lovers? _

**I told you so.**

“You’re making my job very difficult,” Kuroo gritted between clenched teeth.

“Good.”

**Kuroo, you’re coming home with Akaashi and Foxy or I’ll disconnect your taste buds for a year.**

_ Got it! I promise! Don’t touch my taste buds! _

+

Kaleb was one of the most influential slave masters in the known universe. It came to nobody’s surprise that he was a well-travelled man and it showed. As Ushijima was led past gates made from twisted meteoritic iron to form moving dragons he entered a courtyard filled with plants he had never seen before. Some of them talked in a language of their own.  

Kaleb collected oddities and seemingly unobtainable luxuries from planets spread far and wide. Still, the most precious commodity of all were people. People’s lives and skills were special in that they could be bought and sold. Thus, he made a good living from slave trading with other masters every year at sights hosted by the Emporium, a board of slave masters assembled to regulate the flow of slaves according to supply and demand of different skill sets. In short, there was a slave for everything. 

The practice of slavery was abolished a few millenniums ago, but re-emerged 300 years ago due to hyperinflation. Ushijima couldn’t quite remember the chain of events that made it happen, but for many people it was the only way they could afford to live. Now there was talk of abolishing the slave trade since there were no longer laws and many new jobs had been made. It was no longer needed. 

His mother was one of many who disagreed with the idea of slaves and slave masters, which was why the Ushijima family never endorsed in slavery. Instead, they hired indentured servants and paid them fairly for their hard work. The irony that he had previously come here to buy Bokuto and was about to take part in a public slave auction didn’t strike him. He had only one goal. If it meant buying a few slaves and freeing them afterwards he'd do it. 

However, there were talking flowers. The flowers looked like tiny bunnies the size of his fingertip and their leaves swayed merrily in the breeze. Their voices were like birdsong cooing in the evenings. He didn’t realise Bokuto was no longer at his side when he turned to show Bokuto the adorable plants.

He thought the chest and the strange clothes Bokuto came in were part of Kaleb’s unique packaging. He honestly didn’t know any better until Bokuto made it very obvious. What a huge misunderstanding that was. Perhaps that was why Bokuto lingered at least a metre behind him even though he tried to match Bokuto’s pace.

“Come, walk beside me.”

Bokuto hesitated, spluttering incoherent words. Something about it being weird.

Ushijima's heart sank. “Do you mean I am weird?” He wasn't the best at dealing with people. 

“No, no, no!” Bokuto waved his hands frantically in front of him. “That’s not what I meant. It doesn’t make sense for me to walk beside you.”

“You’re free.” No matter how many times Ushijima told Bokuto that he didn’t seem to believe it. “Your friend will be too,” he promised.

Together they made their way through an impressive archway of some kind of ancient stone. It was beautifully weathered with worn out edges and cracks running through it. Ivy twined around it like a cloak. There was something charming about age and imperfection. Ushijima ran his palm across the stone. It was rough and pitted beneath his skin. 

The invisible feeling of walking through a spider’s web rippled across his body, falling from head to toe. The garden and archway dissolved behind them. In front of them an ornate gallery unfolded. 

Many buyers were already milling about, sipping on champagne flutes while inspecting Kaleb’s wares. 

Every step revealed rare treasures of every kind. It was like walking through a collector's treasure box. Gilt cages stacked one upon the other towered over them. Flying carpets carried buyers up to inspect the goods. Gleaming jewels hovered and gleamed above pedestals. Antiques were carefully guarded, in particular, a knife from the 21st century. Items from that era were exceedingly rare. The dagger gleamed silver and it had a matte black plastic handle. 

Ushijima tapped on a data crystal. The clear crystal spire became an opaque blue, showing a menu written in white. He leafed through each facet of the catalogue. All items were meticulously organised. It didn't take long for him to find the list of gladiators for sale. 

Bokuto, who was strangely subdued, spoke up with a wince. “Akaashi won't be on that list. He’s probably under Ornaments or Pleasure. And very popular. Kaleb always called him and Konoha his crown jewels.” He squeezed Ushijima's shoulder, face riddled with worry. “Can you really beat the other buyers?”

“I don’t buy things often, so I have saved a reasonable amount,” Ushijima reassured him. 

Bokuto craned his neck to look at the catalogue. Like he had predicted, Akaashi's name didn't appear under ornaments. Bokuto drooped. 

Akaashi was the final lot under Pleasure.

A small man with a pencil-thin moustache appeared at their elbows and bowed deeply. He proffered a tray of sweetmeats and small glasses of sparkling wine. “Refreshments, sirs?”

“Do you have milk?”

“Of course. And you, sir?” The man turned to Bokuto, eyes lowered respectfully to the ground. 

“Me? Sir?” Bokuto is incredulous and surprised. “No, I'm good.”

No sooner had the little man left, a warm glass of milk appeared in Ushijima’s hand. One moment it wasn’t there, the next he was sipping on a warm drink. There was a long while yet before the auction for pleasure items began. He stared at the milky whiteness that swirled in his glass. Everything about it was perfect, the temperature, the creamy aroma. The little man was but a minor detail that slipped his mind. Perhaps this drink was a simulation of one rather than a real one. Even in the arena it was sometimes difficult to differentiate between reality and imagination.

“Hinata!”

Bokuto’s voice dragged Ushijima out of his thoughts. Bokuto was waving at someone a distance away.

A small boy with bright, orange hair you couldn’t miss jumped up and down. “Bokuto-san!” Encircling his neck was a ring of skin paler than the rest. It was the same as Bokuto’s. Hinata must have been bought and freed just today. He was about to detach himself from who Ushijima assumed to be his liberator when he caught himself mid-step to glance back at the man. The liberator nodded and gestured towards the archway. Hinata became a blur of orange as he zipped between buyers and bounded over to them. 

The liberator floated a short distance behind him. He was covered from head to toe in black silks and fine lace. Crowned with drops of fire opals, a thin veil obscured his face, leaving behind a strange impression that this mysterious man must be beautiful. Buyers parted for him like the sea and written all over their faces was curiosity. “What does he look like in the arena?” their faces asked. As he dissolved in the archway, bronze embroidery shimmered down his back and the image of crows in flight was ingrained in Ushijima’s mind. This man was everything a retiarius should be outside of the arena, tantalising and perfect for attracting a sizable audience for any team they belonged to.

Hinata hesitated and bowed deeply to Ushijima before turning to Bokuto. “Bokuto-san!” His voice cracked and he was almost in tears. “We were so worried.”

Suddenly, Ushijima felt like an intruder. He retreated a few steps back to give them some privacy.

Bokuto ruffled Hinata’s hair. “Are you doing ok? Who was that?”

“Yes! We got to have more food because of the auction.” Hinata’s voice lowered to a reverent whisper, “That’s Sugawara-san. Have you played against him before? I’m so relieved he bought me. He’s really nice.”

“I’m glad you’re safe. Sugawara, eh? I gotta watch out for him if you’re going to be on his team.” Bokuto clapped his hands on Hinata’s shoulders. “Akaashi! Did anyone buy Akaashi?”

“Some scary guy came to take him. It was really strange. Kaleb gave him away for free.”

Bokuto frowned and chewed on his lip. “What did he look like?”

“He was as tall as you and had crazy black hair like boom!” Hinata flailed his arms about, mimicking a violent explosion.

It was then Bokuto fixed Ushijima with a serious face and hope burning in his eyes. “Ushiwaka, we have to visit Nekoma.”

Ushijima raised an eyebrow. “The assassins’ guild? It’s Ushijima by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was super excited to introduce Nekoma into the story. They're going to be very important.


End file.
